The Empty Chairs
by Adamantwrites
Summary: Why can't a sensitive boy write poetry without people wondering if he's...odd? Written for Pernell Roberts' birthday celebration.


**All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original plots and characters are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **The Empty Seats**

Adam was nervous. From his seat on the social hall dais, he watched the chairs filling with people. The front row was reserved for the families of the three students who stood out for their academic accomplishment, and the remainder, for the parents of the 9 graduating eighth graders. Interested citizens took the rest of the seats. But three of the front-row chairs were still empty; one for Hop Sing, one for little brother Hoss and one for his father, Ben Cartwright. Adam feared they wouldn't come, that his father was too embarrassed that his son wrote poetry.

Susan Ellis, the best grade 8 student, was going to sing "Sweet Afton." Missy Prescott, grade 5, was going to recite the Preamble to the Constitution, and Adam Cartwright, grade 6, was going to read his original poem.

When earlier that week, Adam was asked by Miss Jersey to read his poem to the class, the boys giggled nervously and glanced at one another. Even some of the girls looked at each other questioningly. Adam Cartwright wrote a poem? What kind of boy wrote poetry?

Almost all the younger girls, and even girls in the higher grades, thought Adam Cartwright was a handsome boy, one they'd like to chase them, catch them and then kiss them during recess. But he often kept to himself and observed. And from Adam's first day in school, he'd been the best kickball player, the best hand-wrestler, and when they played Crack the Whip, well, he was rarely flung off. But Adam had written a poem and everyone knew poetry was just for girls – or sissies.

It had all come about because Adam was bored. He had quickly completed the assigned five rows of math problems and Miss Jersey was covering a spelling lesson with the Grade 4 and 5 students. Adam had started a poem the night before and folded it inside one of his primers. Now he pulled out the paper and continued writing. He reworked the last two lines twice before he was satisfied, read it through once more, and was about to put it back in his book when he heard Miss Jersey clear her throat. Adam looked up; she stood by his desk - her hand out. Her face was like stone.

"The note, Adam."

It was spring, the last week of school and all the children were restless. The light, fragrant wind blew through the open windows and the prospect of summer had infected all the children. Miss Jersey struggled each day to keep them from placing their heads on their desks and falling asleep; her ruler was now constantly in one of her hands the way a warrior holds a spear.

"It's not a note, Miss Jersey, it's…" Adam started to explain.

"Give it to me, Adam." She continued to hold out her hand and Adam sheepishly gave her the paper. He knew what Miss Jersey did with notes; she read them aloud to the whole class.

Adam hung his head. He waited, hearing the whispers among the other students. Adam was never in trouble; he was probably the best students in the school.

"Now, let's see what we have here…" Miss Jersey spoke triumphantly as she unfolded the paper. She looked at it, her mouth open, ready to read aloud. But she didn't. She finished reading and then quickly reread it. "Adam, this is…beautiful."

Adam blushed. He would have rather had his palms smacked with the ruler than to have Miss Jersey say what he wrote was beautiful.

"Would you read it to the class, Adam? Would you? Please?"

Adam wanted to read it - it touched his vanity - but something instinctual told him not to. Nevertheless, he replied, "Yes, ma'am." He couldn't disobey his teacher. Adam stood up and Miss Jersey, smiling, her eyes dewy, handed him the paper and Adam began to read.

" The World's Wonders by Adam Cartwright. The white-tipped mountains that yearn to meet the sky…" Tittering and suppressed laughter started.

"Wait a moment, Adam. Please." Miss Jersey said, stopping him. Then she faced the class. "Is anything funny, Carl? How about you, Brett? What do you - any of you boys, find so funny? Well, I'm waiting!" She stood with her mouth pursed. All year she had known nothing but trouble from these rowdy, truculent hooligans, especially that Carl Reagan who – she was certain - had put the mushy, worm-infested apple on her desk that very morning. "Speak up!"

"It's just that…" Carl burst into laughter and finally managed to say, "I'm wonderin' if now that he's writin' poetry, Adam's gonna start wearing a bonnet over his curls!"

The whole class began laughing, some of the girls, nervously. But it was odd to have a boy even read poetry so much as write it. Maybe Adam Cartwright was a sissy. Maybe he didn't really like kissing girls and that's why he didn't play 'boy chase girl' during recess The other children in the class were uncomfortable and shifted in their seats.

Adam blushed. "Is it okay if I sit down?"

"Yes, Adam, go ahead." And as Miss Jersey walked back to her desk, she muttered, "Pearls before swine."

Adam went back to his seat amid the laughter. Adam's desk mate, Les Oster, whispered, "Hey, Adam. You got stockin's under those dungarees 'stead of long johns?"

And behind him, Carl Reagan poked him in the back and asked, "You wearin' a pinafore to the ceremony, Adam?"

"Yeah, to match the bows in his hair," Les said and then they laughed again.

Adam clenched his jaw and both fists. He wanted to run out of class. It had never occurred to him that writing poetry would be seen as "girly." In class, they had read poetry by William Cullen Bryant and Philip Freneau. And Adam had even read a volume of British poetry and all the poems had been written by men.

At the end of that school day, Miss Jersey asked Adam to stay after a minute, and in a way, Adam was relieved; even if he was in trouble, it was better than being taunted by the boys who were probably waiting outside. But he wasn't in trouble; Miss Jersey had smiled and told Adam his poem was beautiful – moving – hauntingly lovely - and asked him to please read it at the graduation ceremony. Adam blushed deeply, said he wasn't sure, but finally agreed. And as he stood in front of his teacher, he thought how proud his father would be.

~ 0 ~

"What happened to your hand, Adam?' Ben Cartwright was sure he knew; only one thing bruised a boy's knuckles like that and made it painful to grasp a fork too tightly.

"Just some…roughhousing after school, Pa. Nothing serious." Adam didn't want his father to know that after school, he'd slugged a few of the boys who had stayed around to sneer at his penchant for poetry.

"Am I going to get a note from Miss Jersey asking me to stop by to talk about my son's misbehavior?"

"No, Pa. Miss Jersey didn't see…"

"Didn't see what?" Ben waited, slightly amused.

Adam paused and then decided to tell his father his good news as a diversion. "Miss Jersey kept me after school to talk about my poem."

"Your what? What poem?"

"I wrote a poem and she asked me to read it at graduation this Friday. Wanna hear it?"

"Well…a poem, huh? Um…after supper, Adam. I'll look at it after supper. Eat your dinner first."

"What's a poem, Adam?" Hoss asked, pausing from eating.

"It's something…" Adam considered an answer. Hoss was so young that Adam struggled with how to explain it. "It's like a nursery rhyme only for older people."

"Oh," Hoss said. That seemed to suffice and Hoss went back to his mashed potatoes and gravy.

"I have it memorized, Pa. I really don't have to read it. Can I just say it?"

Ben sighed and then smiled; Adam was so earnest. "Okay." Ben put down his fork and knife and folded his hands, waiting.

" _The World's Wonders_. That's the title. _The white-tipped mountains that yearn to meet the sky, like a person's soul ascending to greet heaven on the high. As a lover's arms embracing the object of delight_ …"

"Adam," Ben said, holding up one hand, "so far, that's…lovely and I don't want to discourage you, but maybe it'd be better if you played the guitar instead of reciting a poem. You've become really good at it and I think that a nice song would interest people far more than…a poem."

"But, Pa, Miss Jersey asked me to read my poem. She said it was beautiful; she almost cried. See, it's about how nature is like a person in the way that…"

"Adam, I understand that your teacher asked you to recite it, but she's not from around here. Those people back east, they have different ideas about what people like. Your mother, now she loved poetry. I told you how you were named Adam because I read _Paradise Lost_ to her the night you were born. She loved it, loved all those poems. But as I said, she was from the east and they hold with a long tradition of poetry. But as for the people around here, well, I don't know if it would go over well. I can talk to Miss Jersey for you, if you want, and I'm sure she'll allow you to play the guitar instead."

"You don't like the poem, do you?" Adam asked flatly. He knew his father didn't, could tell that it made him uncomfortable just as it had the students in school.

"It's not that, Adam. It's just that, out here, well, people don't really appreciate poetry. They don't understand it. But if you sing a nice song that everyone knows and likes, why I bet you'll get them all singing along with you, clapping their hands even. I think it would go over big."

Silence fell between father and son. Then Adam spoke quietly. "Okay, Pa. I won't read the poem. But I'll tell Miss Jersey myself." Adam looked at his plate and then pushed it away. "May I be excused?"

"Yes, I suppose if you're finished…" Ben wished he hadn't said a word about the poem. Adam was so much like his mother, so sensitive and intuitive about things. He knew he had to make things right with Adam. And now. "But, if you wouldn't mind, before you leave, let me hear the rest of your poem. And really, if Miss Jersey thinks it should be read at graduation, well, she's the one who's been to a teacher's school, not me."

"It's _not I_ , Pa."

Ben smiled. "Yes, 'she's been to school, not I'. Now, if you wouldn't mind starting again…" Ben sat back and listened to Adam. And as he watched Adam's pure face and the almost transcendent expression in his eyes, Ben felt his throat close with emotion. The poem _was_ beautiful – his mother would have loved it, and her handsome son who looked so much like her. Adam had every right to be proud of what he had written, Ben felt, and so he smiled and told his son that he would be honored to hear Adam recite it at graduation and that not only he, but Hop Sing and Hoss would be there as well.

Adam had spit-shined his boots for the ceremony and although his shirt was a bit too large, it was new with un-frayed cuffs. Ben had helped Adam with the string tie, given him a splash of cologne and a bit of pomade to help control the wild waves of his black hair. Will Reagan, the Ponderosa foreman and Carl's father, drove Adam to the social hall attached to the back of the church.

"So," Will asked as he drove the Cartwright buckboard, "you singin' a song or somethin' tonight? Always like to hear you singin'. I told my wife I hoped you'd sing one of them church songs that lift the spirit. Man can't get enough of that." Will smiled indulgently at Adam. He was a fine young man and Will was glad his son and Adam were friends.

"No, I'm reading a poem I wrote."

"A poem?"

"Yes, sir. It's titled _The World's Wonders_."

"You don't say. A poem." Adam felt the uncomfortable silence between him and Will. And they barely spoke for the rest of the way. But as he climbed down from the buckboard, Will Reagan said, "Good luck tonight, Adam. We'll all be there at the ceremony to hear your poem."

And now Miss Jersey was frantically trying to get some order among the grade 8 students. Earlier in the week, the class had walked to the social hall and the participants had rehearsed with the rest of the class making up the audience. The boys made howling sounds while Susan sang and farting sounds while Missy spoke but no one made any noise while Adam read his poem. It was obvious to Adam though, that they were uncomfortable, that is until Carl Regan made loud kissing noises. Then Adam had to stop as the students laughed, even the grade 1 and 2 students although they didn't know why they were laughing.

Now, on the dais before the ceremony, Miss Jersey gave directions for everything again, how students would rise when their name was called and then come to the table to pick up their Bible and a document that stated they had completed grammar school. And Adam sat, waiting anxiously for his family to arrive.

 _"_ _We'll be there, Adam. I promise. Hop Sing's making sure Hoss's taking his bath right now. We'll be there as soon as we can." Ben had said as Adam left with Will Reagan._

But Adam wasn't sure. He kept his eyes glued to the double doors, waiting, hoping. But his family wasn't yet there. Adam glanced at the clock. A little less than 10 minutes left and the whole place was almost full. Carl Reagan came in with his parents and from his chair in the third row, pursed his lips and made silent kissing motions. Adam wondered if it was an actual threat to make the noise while he was speaking, or if it was just to upset him. Suddenly Adam wished he wasn't there. Why hadn't he listened to his father and asked to play the guitar instead? Adam was sure he'd be ridiculed when he was through, maybe even shunned by the other boys, treated differently. He should know better than to write poetry. Poetry was for girls to appreciate and maybe, just maybe there was something wrong with him since he was so touched by it. Maybe there had been something inherently wrong with those poets he had read. Were they all 'sissies'? Was every man who was moved by a beautiful phrase, the loveliness of a woman, by the miraculous existence of man, or the ineffable adoration of God—were they all effeminate? What did it mean to be a man anyway?

Adam felt his collar was strangling him and his back was wet from sweat. He decided his father wasn't coming. Why should he come to see his son humiliate himself and by relation, his father as well? He was an embarrassment to the Cartwright name, a disgrace. Adam's breath shuddered. His stomach roiled and he felt such shame, such ignominy! He would leave, use the excuse he was ill. Adam gripped the sides of his chair, looking down and absently observing the whorls in the wood flooring and noting one knothole.

"Adam! Adam!"

Adam looked up. His father was taking his seat in the front, Hoss next to him looking as neat and tidy as he could be made to look, his fine hair looking like the down of a baby bird, and Hop Sing next, wearing his best starched white tunic, loose black pants, and a white cap. They were all grinning at him and Hoss waved and shouted, "Hey, Adam!"

His family had made it; they were proud of him, and now, for Adam, the most important seats in the room were filled.

~ Finis ~


End file.
